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28.2.12

Influential Black Figures: Sidney Poitier


A native of Cat Island, The Bahamas, (though born in Miami during a mainland visit by his parents), Poitier grew up in poverty as the son of a dirt farmer. He had little formal education and at the age of 15 was sent to Miami to live with his brother, in order to forestall a growing tendency toward delinquency. In the U.S., Poitier first experienced the racial chasm that divides the country, a great shock to a boy coming from a society with a black majority. A determination to find and create opportunities for blacks was born in him because of the poor treatment he received on the streets of Miami. At 18, he went to New York, did menial jobs and slept in a bus terminal toilet. A brief stint in the Army as a worker at a veteran's hospital was followed by more menial jobs in Harlem. An impulsive audition at the American Negro Theatre was rejected so forcefully that Poitier dedicated the next six months to overcoming his accent and performance ineptness. On his second try, he was accepted. He was spotted in a rehearsal and given a bit part in a Broadway production of "Lysistrata," for which he got excellent reviews. By the end of 1949, he was having to choose between leading roles on stage and an offer to work for Darryl F. Zanuck in the film No Way Out (1950). Poitier's performance as a doctor treating a white bigot got him plenty of notice and led to more roles, each considerably more interesting and prominent than most black actors of the time were getting. Nevertheless, the roles were still less interesting and prominent than those white actors routinely obtained. But seven years later, after turning down several projects he considered demeaning, Poitier got a number of roles that catapulted him into a category rarely if ever achieved by a black man of that time, that of starring leading man.
One of the films, The Defiant Ones (1958), gave Poitier his first Academy Award nomination as Best Actor. Five years later, he won the Oscar for Lilies of the Field (1963), the first black to win for a leading role. Poitier maintained activity on stage, on screen, and in the burgeoning Civil Rights movement. His roles in Guess Who's Coming to Dinner (1967) and To Sir, with Love (1967) were for their time landmarks in the breaking down of social barriers between blacks and whites, and Poitier's talent, conscience, integrity, and inherent likability placed him on equal footing with the white stars of the day. He took on directing and producing chores in the Seventies, achieving success in both arenas. Although he has reduced the frequency of his roles in recent years, he remains one of the most respected and beloved figures in American cinema of the twentieth century.


In 1963 he became the first black man to win an Academy Award, for his role as Homer Smith in Lilies of the Field (1963).

When he came to New York from the Caribbean to become an actor, he was so impoverished at first that he slept in the bus station. To get his first major role in No Way Out (1950), he lied to director Joseph L. Mankiewicz and told him he was 27, when actually only 22 years old.

Sits on USC School of Cinema-Television's Board of Councilors.

Stanley Kramer approached him about co-starring in The Defiant Ones (1958), which made him a bigger star, but admitted that if he did not take the role of "Porgy" in Porgy and Bess (1959) for Samuel Goldwyn it might kill his chances to get the role in The Defiant Ones (1958) as Goldwyn had that much clout in Hollywood.

Appointed an Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire in 1974. Although this is often mistaken to have been an honorary knighthood, it is actually a substantive knighthood, as Poitier is a citizen of The Bahamas, a Commonwealth realm which at the time of his appointment recognized the British Honours System. He is thus entitled to be known as Sir Sidney Poitier, but does not himself use this title.

His Stir Crazy (1980) was the highest grossing film directed by a black filmmaker until Scary Movie (2000), directed by Keenen Ivory Wayans almost 20 years later.

Of Haitian ancestry from his father's side.

While trying to sing with some fellow actors in Off-Broadway theatre he found he was tone deaf.

Younger brother of Cyril Poitier.

In the 1960s, for many of his films, he was paid in a way known as "dollar one participation" which basically means he begins collecting a cut of the film's gross from the first ticket sold.

Has an honorary doctorate degree from Shippensburg University of Pennsylvania.

Fluent in Russian.

First black actor to place autograph, hand, and footprints in the cement at Grauman's Chinese Theatre (June 23, 1967).

Premiere Magazine ranked him as #20 on a list of the Greatest Movie Stars of All Time in their Stars in Our Constellation feature (2005).

Was named #22 greatest actor on the 50 Greatest Screen Legends by the American Film Institute

Was nominated for Broadway's 1960 Tony Award as Best Actor (Dramatic) for "A Raisin in the Sun," a role that he recreated in the film version of the same same, A Raisin in the Sun (1961).

Future wife Joanna Shimkus encouraged him to direct his first film, Buck and the Preacher (1972), after he and the original director could not agree creatively.

His performance as Virgil Tibbs in In the Heat of the Night (1967) is ranked #55 on Premiere Magazine's 100 Greatest Performances of All Time (2006).

His performance as Virgil Tibbs in In the Heat of the Night (1967) is ranked #20 on Premiere Magazine's 100 Greatest Movie Characters of All Time.

During the early 1980s a man named David Hampton conned his way into the homes of several wealthy and prominent New Yorkers (including a dean at Columbia University) by falsely claiming to be Poitier's son. Playwright John Guare, fascinated by the way the story illustrated the magic that the mere mention of Poiter's name held for people of his generation (especially white people), based his play "Six Degrees of Separation" on Hampton's story. The play was adapted into the movie Six Degrees of Separation (1993) in 1993, with Will Smith as the character based upon Hampton.

Along with Gary Cooper, is the most represented actor on the American Film Institute's 100 Most Inspiring Movies of All Time, with five of his films on the list. They are: A Raisin in the Sun (1961) at #65, The Defiant Ones (1958) at #55, Lilies of the Field (1963) at #46, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner (1967) at #35, and In the Heat of the Night (1967) at #21.

His performance as Detective Virgil Tibbs in In the Heat of the Night (1967) is ranked #19 on the American Film Institute's 100 Heroes & Villains.

Along with his name uttered in the lyrics, a photograph of Poitier is held by Busta Rhymes in the 1998 rap video "Gimme Some More".

Received the Screen Actors Guild's Life Achievement Award.

His role in The Bedford Incident (1965) marked the first time he would play a role in which his character's race was not an issue.

Considered for the male lead for The Owl and the Pussycat (1970), opposite Diana Sands, who had played the part of "Doris" on Broadway.

Prostate cancer survivor.

Has four grandchildren and two great-granddaughters [2008].

Is a long time friend of singer, fellow actor and activist Harry Belafonte. They were born 9 days apart. They met in New York at age 20 before either was in show business.

National Player of the Year



Expect the bottom feeders, once they really start examining Kentucky's Anthony Davis, to really think about what winning this year's lottery will do for a team. The Kentucky center is the most polished true big man, even with only one season under his belt, to come out of college since Tim Duncan. Maybe since David Robinson. Shaq, powerful as he was coming out of LSU, wasn't as polished offensively as Davis is. This kid isn't just a game-changer, he's a franchise-changer.....

27.2.12

Facebook spies on phone users' text messages, report says

facebook

INTERNET giant Facebook is accessing smartphone users' personal text messages, an investigation revealed today.

Facebook admitted reading text messages belonging to smartphone users who downloaded the social-networking app and said that it was accessing the data as part of a trial to launch its own messaging service, The (London) Sunday Times reported.

Other well-known companies accessing smartphone users' personal data - such as text messages - include photo-sharing site Flickr, dating site Badoo and Yahoo Messenger, the paper said.

It claimed that some apps even allow companies to intercept phone calls - while others, such as YouTube, are capable of remotely accessing and operating users' smartphone cameras to take photographs or videos at any time.

Security app My Remote Lock and the app Tennis Juggling Game were among smaller companies' apps that may intercept users' calls, the paper said.

Emma Draper, of the Privacy International campaign group, said, "Your personal information is a precious commodity, and companies will go to great lengths to get their hands on as much of it as possible."

More than 400,000 apps can be downloaded to Android phones, and more than 500,000 are available for iPhones - with all apps downloaded from Apple's App Store covered by the same terms and conditions policy.

According to a YouGov poll for the newspaper, 70 per cent of smartphone users rarely or never read the terms and conditions policy when they download an app.


These pictures sum up LeBron in the allstar game.....

> Lebron's Night, No Captions Needed. (pics) - Photo posted in BX SportsCenter | Sign in and leave a comment below!> Lebron's Night, No Captions Needed. (pics) - Photo posted in BX SportsCenter | Sign in and leave a comment below!> Lebron's Night, No Captions Needed. (pics) - Photo posted in BX SportsCenter | Sign in and leave a comment below!

Q-Tip’s Hot 97 Black Fist Mix



Influential Black Figures: World B Free

Many current Cavs fans jumped on the bandwagon once The King started leading the train.

Others became Cavs fans when the Daugherty-Nance-Price era provided some hope.

Yet one more group entered the fray long ago during the Miracle of Richfield years in the mid-1970s.

But most will forget (or choose to forget) the mess the franchise was in between those Miracle of Richfield and Mark Price-led teams.

The truth is that the Cleveland Cavaliers were close to being extinct in the early 1980s.

Ted Stepien, the eccentric owner of the Cavs during that time period was running the team into the ground.

A series of ill-fated personnel moves and cost-cutting decisions were putting the franchise in danger of being forced to move to some other city.

People began to question whether or not it was a good idea to have a basketball arena 30 minutes from the City of Cleveland in the middle of yet-to-be developed Richfield, Ohio.

During the cold and blustery winters of northeast Ohio, many in the inner-ring suburbs who supported the Cavs’ team just did not want to make the trek south.

The teams’ play on the court was ugly and the attendance figures were even uglier.

It was only a matter of time until the NBA cut the cord on Cleveland.

But in stepped what seemed to be an odd savior at the time, World B. Free.

World was one of those “characters” of the early 1980s basketball. He legally changed his name from Lloyd to World and played with an undeniable flair.

Free was initially given the nickname “World” by a friend on the Brooklyn playgrounds because of his ability to hit shots from "around the world." In addition to his incredible range, Free had a spectacular 44-inch vertical leap and a wild array of dunks.

He twice finished second to George “The Ice Man” Gervin for the league scoring title, once scoring over 30 points per game in the 1978-79 season with the San Diego Clippers.

Despite his prolific scoring averages, Free bounced around from Philadelphia, to San Diego, to Golden State before arriving in Cleveland in his eighth season in the league.

By the time he reached Cleveland in December of 1982, his incredible jumping ability was gone. He became better known as a selfish gunner than anyone who could possibly lead this miserable team out of its doldrums.

By 1984, the Cavaliers were the laughing stock of the league. They had not made the playoffs since 1978.

The team had undergone numerous coaching changes. One, Bill Musselman, would not even make it through a single season.

They lost 52, 45, 54, 67, 59 and 54 games from 1979 to 1984.

To make matters worse, Stepien had traded the No. 2 pick in the draft to the Los Angeles Lakers for Don Ford, who would play only 85 games in two years for the Cavs.

That No. 2 pick would turn out to be future Hall of Famer James Worthy.

The league office had to institute what many called “The Stepien Rule” because he traded away first-round picks to the Dallas Mavericks in 1983, ’84, ’85, and ’86. NBA officials would have to approve any trades made by the Cavaliers.

Burt Graeff (writer for the Cleveland Press and co-author of the book CAVS From Fitch to Fratello) reported that then-Dallas coach Dick Motta “said that he was afraid to go to lunch because he would miss a call from Ted Stepien.”

Even after trading for Free, the Cavaliers were a disaster. He would lead the team in scoring at nearly 24 per game in 1982-83, but it never translated to wins.

A year earlier, Stepien would sell the team to George and Gordon Gund. The Gunds attempted to change the whole culture of Cleveland basketball.

They hired a young George Karl to coach the team, and even changed the team colors to orange and blue (from their standard wine and gold).

In that 1984-85 season, Free would carry the team on his back to the playoffs after a wretched 2-19 start. He would average 22.5 points and 4.5 assists during the regular season.

Although they would lose to Larry Bird and the powerful Boston Celtics, he brought excitement back to northeast Ohio. Each game would be a nail-biter decided in the closing moments.

World would score over 26 points and dish out nearly eight assists per game at the age of 31. Nearly all of those points would come from long-range (before the NBA instituted the three-point arc).

Helping the team make the playoffs for the first time in seven years was not his only contribution to Cleveland Basketball. More importantly, it was the way he played the game that got people to actually become fans of the Cavs.

After years of attendance figures more suitable for junior high sports, the Cavs were selling out seats for the first time in years.

He would only play one more season in Cleveland, but his play almost single-handedly saved the franchise from moving to another city.

World B. Free now spends his time as a great ambassador for the game and is a front office member of the Philadelphia 76ers.

Among his many duties, Free runs basketball clinics and does public speaking, helping young children learn the game of basketball as well as the game of life.

If or when the Cavaliers hang a National Basketball Association Championship banner from the ceiling of Quicken Loans Arena, the team should hang the jersey of World B. Free right beside it.

25.2.12

A father dedicated to helping his son

Irving Family Photo


The son swears the father saw it all coming.

Kyrie Irving ticks off the milestones as if they were fresh produce on a weekly grocery list.

"In eighth grade," Irving said, "my father told me I would wind up as the best guard in the state of New Jersey. In my senior year of high school, he told me I'd be the number one player in the country. Then, in college, he told me I'd be the number one pick in the draft.

"He laid out all the necessary steps for me. It was up to me what I did with them."

Irving continues to cement his role as the young cornerstone of the Cleveland Cavaliers, leading all NBA rookies in scoring with 18.1 points a game. (He also dishes out 5.1 assists).

He will be a member of Team Chuck in Friday's NBA Rising Stars game, the second player selected after Clippers sensation Blake Griffin.

"I thank my father," Irving said. "He did things the old-school way. No shortcuts. Nothing guaranteed."

The father swears it was the son who saw it all coming, who wrote down "GOAL: PLAY IN THE NBA" on a slip of paper when he was in the fourth grade and pulled it out whenever someone doubted that a spindly high school freshman barely 5-foot-8 could ever make it to the pros.

Drederick Irving was Kyrie's measuring stick. Each summer he'd line up against the mark in their home, recording his father's 6-foot-4 frame.

"I want to be bigger than you," Kyrie told his dad.

"You will be," his father promised.

He had reason to believe that was true. After Drederick's dreams of an NBA career were snuffed out by a failed tryout with the Celtics, he played in New York's Pro Am league, gliding up and down the asphalt courts exuding grace in an otherwise hardscrabble game.

Kyrie was only a toddler in a stroller, yet his bright eyes followed the action, followed his father. Afterward, when released from the constraints of his perch, Kyrie would clamor for the ball, dribbling with one hand, his steady gaze fixed on Drederick.

He was 13 months old.

"And I have the footage to prove it," Drederick said.

He brought the boy everywhere, but then, what choice did he have? When Kyrie was 4 and his sister, Asia, was 5, their mother, Elizabeth, died suddenly, leaving Drederick to care for two confused, heartbroken children. His own grief needed to be tucked away during the hectic daylight hours of raising two active kids. Only when they were tucked in safely was Drederick free to sob himself quietly to sleep.

He wanted more for his children than he had. As one of six children growing up in the Mitchel housing projects in the Bronx, N.Y., Drederick saw too much too soon. He was a child on welfare whose father abandoned him when he was 6, whose mother, Lillian, worked two jobs to keep the family afloat. Drugs and crime and guns were everyday obstacles, and Drederick recognized education and basketball would be his escape.

"I consider myself a good man," Drederick once told Kyrie, "but I want you to be a better one."

Drederick moved his small children to New Jersey and enrolled them in private school, but he brought them back regularly to the Mitchel projects.

"I was there almost every weekend," Kyrie said. "I got to be in the same environment my dad was in. I was basically a kid playing on a jungle gym in the projects."

[+] EnlargeKyrie Irving
AP Photo/Tony DejakKyrie Irving is averaging 18.1 points and 5.1 assists per game.

Drederick commuted to Wall Street, where he was a financial broker. For years he worked for Cantor Fitzgerald on the 105th floor of the World Trade Center.

Eight months before 9/11 he changed jobs, accepting a position with Garvan Securities on the 40th floor of the same building.

"I was there three weeks and I didn't like it," Drederick said. "I can't really explain it. I just had a bad feeling in my stomach about it."

He moved to Thomson Reuters at 3 Financial Square but walked through the World Trade Center building each morning from the train station.

On the morning of 9/11, he was striding through the lobby of the twin towers when a thunderous noise knocked him backward.

"I thought the boiler exploded," Drederick said. "The boom was so loud, the force of wind so powerful. There was shattered glass everywhere."

Within seconds, chaos ensued: collapsing walls, screaming people, suffocating smoke.

"All I could think of was, 'I've got to get to my kids,'" Drederick said.

He pushed his way to the exit, but there was a logjam at the door. People were frightened to leave the building because so much debris was falling from the sky.

"I stuck my head out and tried to see, but I couldn't tell what it was," he said. "Pieces of the building, pieces of the plane, a lot of paper ..."

He dashed across the street, dodging chunks of steel, then began frantically dialing his friends at Cantor Fitzgerald. He tried his former boss, his former secretary, a slew of buddies with whom he shared his hopes, his dreams, his proud stories of his children's accomplishments. Nobody picked up. He glanced up at the building, at the flames licking the top floors, at the smoke engulfing the towers.

"I was standing there watching the debris fall from the sky, and then I realized, 'That's not debris. Those are bodies,'" Drederick said.

"It has taken me years to get that image out of my mind. I still have dreams about 9/11, to be honest. It was a horrible day. I lost so many friends."

Drederick knew he needed to move away from the towers, which quickly became choked with dust and death and despair. His cell phone was useless and the roads were blocked. For a moment, panic took hold. What if he didn't make it? Who would take care of his children?

Ten-year old Kyrie and 11-year-old Asia were at school when the 9/11 attacks began. Kyrie sat quietly as one parent after another, their faces ashen, burst into the building and gathered their children in their arms.

"There were a bunch of teachers crying, a bunch of them leaving the classroom," Kyrie said. "No one knew what was going on.

"Everyone else left with their parents. My sister and I had to wait until school got out."

The babysitter was waiting for them at home, transfixed by the horror unfolding on the television. The solemn reports did little to soothe two terrified siblings who just wanted to throw their arms around their dad.

Drederick could not reach them. Phone lines were down, the trains were grounded, so he began walking toward his old neighborhood.

"I was afraid Asia and Kyrie would think I still worked for Cantor Fitzgerald," he said. "You don't know if kids that young pay attention when you change jobs."

"I don't know why my father would say that," Kyrie said. "I knew exactly where he worked. I also knew he had to pass through the twin towers every day.

"I was worried. Really worried."

Drederick walked nine miles from Wall Street to 137th street and Alexander Avenue in the Bronx, a journey that took more than six hours. He was able to reach his friend Larry Romaine, who drove to Drederick's home to assure his children he was alive and safe.

"I told my children there was a guardian angel looking over me," Drederick said. "How else can you explain it?"

That horrific day haunted him for years. As his children grew, Drederick became even more hands-on, stressing academics and encouraging athletics. He coached Kyrie until the eighth grade, impressed by his young son's poise and resolve.

When Kyrie reached high school, Drederick enrolled him at Montclair Kimberley Academy. After Kyrie led his team to a state prep championship, it became apparent he needed better basketball competition, so he completed his final two years at St. Patrick's in Elizabeth, N.J., where he also won a title.

By then, nearly every college in the country wanted him.

It was so vastly different from Drederick's basketball experience, which often left him overshadowed, first by his close friend Rod Strickland, who would later star in the NBA and become Kyrie's godfather, then later by his Stevenson High School teammates, who seemed to play a little more, score a little more, shine a little brighter.

Drederick drew initial interest from UConn, James Madison and Boston University, but when it came time to pass out scholarships, no one came calling.

It wasn't until BU lost a recruit that head coach John Kuester and assistant Rodney Johnson decided to take one more trip to the Mitchel projects to see what the Irving kid had decided.

Their fine car and their long trench coats set off alarms. Drederick was not a troublemaker, but the dudes that came asking for him sure looked like cops.

"Hey, can you tell me where we can find Dred Irving?" Kuester asked.

"Aw, he's dead, man," his neighborhood friend answered.

"Oh, how terrible," Kuester said. "We're from Boston University and we came to offer him a scholarship."

"A scholarship? Yeah, he lives right down there, two doors over," the boy said.

Drederick Irving went on to score 1,931 career points for the Terriers. His one NCAA appearance was a lopsided loss to Duke, which, more than 20 years later, came knocking for Kyrie.

The son inked with the Blue Devils, was limited to 11 games his freshman year after a toe injury and still became the top choice in last spring's draft. Kyrie went pro with the caveat that he'd complete his Duke degree in five years.

"He's halfway there," Drederick reported. "He gave me his word."

Kyrie claims the transition to the NBA has been seamless, devoid of pressure. Because he was born in Melbourne, Australia, while his father played professionally for the Bullen Bombers, Kyrie could compete in the 2012 Olympic Games for Australia. He'd rather play for the U.S., but so far he hasn't been asked.

His father figures that could change.

"This whole thing is a fairy tale," Drederick said. "Kyrie always hoped to play in the NBA, just as I did.

"He made it, so I feel like I've made it, too."

Kyrie will be 20 on March 23, but his steady gaze remains fixed on the man who devoted his life to his son.

"If you are fortunate to have a father like I have," he said, "you're given a foundation. You can be content with that, or take it and run with it, like I did.

"My father is the one who told me to want more. My father is the one who told me not to settle."

Drederick has remarried and has a new daughter, London. He beams when he talks of Asia, who is thriving as a junior at Temple University.

He commutes back and forth from New Jersey to Cleveland to make sure his son is comfortable, and safe, and will be in Orlando, Fla., to watch Kyrie perform during All-Star Weekend. It is an exhausting schedule, but Drederick won't hear of changing it.

Last time Kyrie came home to West Orange, N.J., he shimmied up to the wall, which showed him at 6-foot-3½, still short of his father's mark.

The son swears he will never reach the heights his father has.

The father swears Kyrie Irving accomplished that a long time ago.Kyrie Irving